Chute de la Grace
I slam my bloody wrists against
The lining of your soul
We laugh for a while until death steals my smile
A hyper conceptual suicide
Formality, formality, destruction of the modern man
Dissection of an artist
Too many misplaced ideologies, no enough symbolicy
Pain ported imperfect
Fingertips drip with chains of insanity
Rolling down the drain
Pink sorrow weeps, tombe en masse
Chute de la grace eternelle
Sliced wrists in a phone booth fall against
The lining of your soul
I laugh for a while, Death waits for my smile
And I'm finally going home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Wow! Dark, good!
Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!
Post a Comment